Judge — December 21, 1918 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

: \ Nosopy Ever Tuinxs To Question a Worp Tuat He Inoprres. Do You Know This Man? é6y H. W. Davis Illustration by ALBERT LEVERING : is the journalistic psychologist. His specialty is dreams, mental attitudes with your meals, backward children, relaxation, blood pressure, adoles- cence, erect posture, concentration, aphasia, green vegetables and somnambulism. He deals with remote causes and remoter results. It is his business to be wise to the human mind. And he is, believe him. Without the slightest provocation he can explain all henomena from fiat feet to cacoethes scribendi. He as a cocksureness that puts native doubt to utter rout. Because of the glistening probability in which he wraps the syndicated products of his master mind, NE of the delightfulest beauty spots that has O everappeared on the fair face of modern science nobody ever thinks to question a word that he indites. If this knowing journalist takes a notion to prove that there is a subtle, insidious relation between chronic indigestion and Chautauqua circuits, he goes and proves it right off. Little difference does it make to him that the relation doesn’t exist. And it doesn’t make any difference to you, either, when you read him. The multiple-cylinder psychologist believes in sim- ple sentences and knee-length paragraphs. They save him the trouble of being Isaically sound. They aid him in putting over all sorts of leaky logic and pre-digested ethics. If you wish to learn to think without hurting, you should become a follower of some journalistic psychologist. Open Confession: 4y Walt Mason tramp, their bugles blowing faster, oh, don’t forget my green thrift stamp, that saved us from disaster. I needed all the coin I had, to buy my wife some mittens, to get myself a liver pad, and skim milk for AM the man who won the war, the greatest modern quarrel; I am the man you’re looking for, with al] that bunch of laurel. You know how dark the prospect seemed when springtime winds were blowing; the Prussians like a torrent streamed, and naught could stop their flowing. The news each day was getting worse, the Prussian beat us under, and every hour brought its reverse, that made us feel like thunder. Our warriors were losing pep, and so I said, “ By whiskers! I’ll have to take some drastic step to stop these Prussian friskers.” I had to cheer our allied camp, restore our buoyant man- ners; and so I bought a green thrift stamp, and thus saved freedom’s banners. The poets, they will write their screeds, extolling soldiers mighty; the orators will tell of deeds that made the foe feel flighty. You'll hear of siege and barricade, such tales will often cheer us; but don’t forget the play I made, when ruin seemed so near us. When warriors before us I Drawn by E. Frowns 1 Went anv Bovcut a Green Turirt Stamp, Warcn Ser Me Back a Quarter. the kittens. I needed coin for hoes and spades, for hooks and eyes and buckles; the children cried for hand grenades and razors and brass knuckles. My creditors in anguish groaned and made some ugly faces; for every penny that I owned there were a dozen places. A man of smaller, meaner soul would not have blown a nickel, to put him further in the hole, and deeper in the pickle. But when I saw the kaiser scamp grow rash with gun and mortar, I went and bought a green thrift stamp, which set me back a quarter. And from that hour our for- tunes changed, the Hun began retreating, while at his heels the allies ranged, and gave him such a beating! You'll read beside the evening lamp strange tales and highfalutin, but don’t forget my green thrift stamp, that canned the raging Teuton. comicbooks.com